


We Fought Hard

by fakevermeer



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FC Bayern München, Fips is a Good Captain, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Champions League QF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 14:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakevermeer/pseuds/fakevermeer
Summary: Philipp looked around, like he was afraid he’d forgotten something. He felt utterly hopeless. That was the word. Hopeless. After staring at the empty bus for a few long seconds, he realised everything he cared about was already in the hotel, so he might as well get off.





	We Fought Hard

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】We Fought Hard](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10714731) by [Elf11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elf11/pseuds/Elf11)



> After the CL elimination I just needed to... write something. Had to get this out of my system. I'm sorry if it's a bit unpolished. I'm also pretty sure it's one of the least joyful things I've ever written so if you wanna read something light and cheery, I would go right back to browsing now if I were you. But who knows, maybe it'll help some of you with getting closure.
> 
> Anyway - weiter, immer weiter!

Philipp got out of the bus last. Everybody filed into the team hotel quietly, almost gingerly. Like the ground was made of glass and they were afraid to break it and cut themselves. 

Not more than an hour ago the dressing room had been boiling. A billion different emotions had been bubbling up everywhere, even the most stoic ones among them unable to hide their feelings. Philipp had done his best to calm where he should, had tried to comfort where he could. It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

Making the rounds in the dressing room, he could still feel Xabi’s arms around him from the hug he had pulled Philipp into back on the pitch. It had helped postpone the sinking feeling that had threatened to overwhelm him right when the referee had signalled they were going into extra time. 

The bus ride to the hotel had been subdued. There hadn’t been a single ounce of adrenalin left in anybody. Everybody was exhausted, but unable to sleep. Philipp had been sitting next to Thomas somewhere in the front of the bus, and he’d seen Carlo and Davide talking quietly in front of them.

And now they were at the hotel, and Philipp had waited for everybody else to leave the bus. He looked around, like he was afraid he’d forgotten something. He felt utterly hopeless. That was the word. _Hopeless_. After staring at the empty bus for a few long seconds, he realised everything he cared about was already in the hotel, so he might as well get off.

Everybody had gone up to their respective rooms when Philipp entered the hotel. It was late, and the lobby was quiet. He managed a watery smile to the young man at the desk, then hitched his bag up his shoulder and pressed the button for the elevator. 

He tried to open the door of his room, but his keycard didn’t work. He tried again. The small light blinked red at him. 

“Damn,” he mumbled to himself, wiping the keycard on his sleeve and trying again. Nothing.

Then, he almost got a heart attack when the door opened and there was Mats. Philipp frowned.

“Wait. This isn’t my room.” 

“Hey, Kapitän.” Mats’s voice was almost gone. “You’re next door. This is 122. You’re 123.” 

Philipp looked at the number on the door. 122. 

“Damn,” he repeated. “Sorry.”

“No problem.”

Philipp looked up at Mats properly. His eyes were dull, his skin waxy in the yellow light of the hallway. He was in a tank top and shorts, barefoot with his ankle taped in a way that made Philipp’s skin itch.

He figured he might as well start the inevitable healing process here.

“Now that I’m here, do you mind if I come in for a minute?” Philipp asked gently. 

Mats stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him.

Philipp walked in, sat down on the double bed and waited for Mats to hobble back and sit down next to him. They were silent for a few long seconds. The air conditioning hummed softly.

“I’m so proud of you,” Philipp said, voice clear in the quiet hotel room. “I know you feel like shit and I know it won’t change the outcome of tonight’s game, but I do want you to know that I am so fucking proud of you.” 

Mats took a deep breath in and let the air escape in a long sigh. He seemed to be folding in on himself a little. Philipp scooted closer and brought up a hand to rub between Mats’s shoulder blades. The last bit of tension flooded out of his body and when Philipp looked at Mats he saw how wet his eyes were.

“Hey,” he said softly, making Mats look up at him. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, though.” Mats sounded absolutely ruined.

“Yes, it is. We lost. We lost in an ugly way, and it hurts like a motherfucker. We’re gonna need some time to recover from this, quite literally in some cases,” Philipp nodded at Mats’s ankle, “but we fought. We fucking _fought_ until we couldn’t anymore, and that, to me, is incredible. _You_ fought. You were in pain, you were tired, but you _fought_. And I can’t thank you enough for that.”

Mats nodded, looking down again, shoulders hunched. He cleared his throat. 

“I appreciate it, Fips” he murmured.

Philipp squeezed Mats’s shoulder and got up off the bed. “Now, I need you to take care of yourself and get some sleep. Okay?” 

Mats got up as well, threw his arms around Philipp’s shoulders and pulled him in close. Philipp buried his face in Mats’s chest and they stayed like that for a while.

When Mats let go of him, Philipp threw him a watery smile and left him, closing the door behind him softly. He straightened his shoulders, took a few deep breaths, and tried to remember in which room Manu was staying.

He walked down the hall and found room number 130. He knocked softly, in case Manu was already asleep.

“I didn’t order room service,” a muffled voice came from inside the room. “Please leave me alone.” 

“It’s me,” Philipp said, his cheek pressed to the door.

“Not in the mood, Fips,” Manu’s voice came after a few seconds.

“I need to talk to you,” Philipp tried again, using his Captain Voice. The other guys frequently made fun of him whenever he used it, but time and time again it had proven useful.

He heard heavy footsteps inside the room and then the door opened just a tiny bit. Philipp pushed the door open to see Manu already walking back into the room, limping back and forth in front of his bed. Philipp closed the door behind him and decided to stay there for a bit.

Manu rubbed at his face and raked his hand through his short hair, putting his hands on his hips, staring at the ceiling, then sat down on the bed for a minute. He avoided looking at Philipp.

“What do you want?” Manu managed to get out. He looked like he immediately regretted the tone he used, but didn’t say anything.

“Just checking up on you,” Philipp said.

“Well, I feel miserable, like I’m sure you do as well, so there’s your update.” 

Philipp hummed softly. Manu seemed like he was trying to keep his real emotions from bubbling up with every fibre of his being, making him physically tremble. 

Philipp knew Manu, knew him very well actually, and he knew he would put up his armour the way he always did when things went wrong. It was useful in games, having someone on goal who could just shut out every emotion and focus on the game in front of him, but Philipp knew that he needed Manu to let that wall down right now.

“How’s your foot?” he asked, voice gentle. 

Manu shrugged. “Doc said it’s probably broken.” 

That came as a surprise to Philipp, and he blinked a few times to get this news to settle. “Wow.” 

“Yeah,” Manu scoffed. “Wow.” 

“That means…” Philipp started, but Manu interrupted him.

“I’m out for the rest of the season.” He got up again, and started limping back and forth through the room. Philipp could see by the way Manu dragged his foot and the way he grimaced while moving that he was really hurting.

“Manu, you probably shouldn’t be up,” he tried, taking a few steps towards his goalkeeper.

Manu turned to face him. They were only a few feet apart, and now Philipp could see that Manu was on the verge of breaking down.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Manu snapped at him. “Just… don’t. Please leave me alone.”

“No.”

Manu stared at him. “Fips, I’m going to… I’ll…”

Philipp looked back at him without flinching, even though his heart was in his throat. He needed Manu to break.

“ _Fuck_ , Fips, just go! I know you mean well, but I feel like a fucking _failure_ and I didn’t just let everybody down tonight, but now I can’t play at all and I just, I can’t think about that now, I’m just so tired, and everything hurts, and my fucking foot is broken, and -”

Manu’s foot seemed to give up and he stumbled. Philipp rushed forward to guide him back onto the bed safely. The second they were sitting down, Manu wrapped himself around Philipp and started sobbing. Philipp swallowed his own tears down, forcing himself to be strong. He rubbed soothing circles into Manu’s back, and just let him cry for a few minutes. 

When Manu’s breathing started to calm down again, Philipp carefully untangled himself from Manu’s arms. He put his hands on both sides of Manu’s face, and forced him to look him in the eye.

“Listen to me. Are you listening?” 

Manu nodded.

“You are _not_ a failure.”

Manu sniffled. Philipp rubbed his thumbs along Manu’s cheeks.

“You’re not. You are strong, and you’re human. Humans break sometimes. That doesn’t make you a failure. Okay?” 

Manu nodded again. Philipp let go of his face and took a deep breath.

“Tonight was rough. Like, really _fucking_ rough. We need to take some time to process that. And you’re gonna need to take some time to heal up, because you’re phenomenal and the team needs you. So promise me you’ll work hard for them.”

Manu looked at him and he seemed exhausted now. The restlessness was gone. Philipp didn’t like the spent look very much, but at least Manu’s armour was gone. Philipp knew now that Manu would be okay, it would just take a while. 

“Promise me,” he repeated. 

Manu cleared his throat. “I promise.” 

Philipp wiped away a lone tear on Manu’s cheek. “Good. Now, are you going to be okay by yourself tonight? Do you need help with anything?” 

Manu shrugged. “I’m gonna sleep.”

“Good idea. And if you change your mind, you know I’m just a few rooms down the hall and I’ve got my phone. Okay?” 

Manu nodded again. Philipp got up off the bed, squeezed Manu’s shoulder one last time and left the room. Closing doors behind him tonight didn’t seem to get any easier.

He leaned against the door of Manu’s room for a few seconds and closed his eyes. Then, he cleared his throat softly and marched himself down to room 142. He knocked on the door, and soon enough, it opened and he was staring up into the face of Xabi Alonso.

“Hey capi,” Xabi said with a small smile. Looking at Philipp’s face made his smile falter a little, though. “Come in.”

Xabi put a hand on Philipp’s shoulder and guided him into the hotel room, closing the door behind them. The lights were low and Xabi had put on some quiet music. Philipp could hear someone singing in Spanish.

Xabi sat Philipp down on one of the chairs at the small table in the corner of his room, got him a glass of water, and sat down opposite him.

“What a game, no?” Xabi said, softly.

“A hell of a way to say goodbye to the Champions League, that’s for sure.” 

Xabi nodded. “Winning it would’ve been better,” he said, the slight grin back on his face.

“Yeah.” 

Xabi reached over to squeeze Philipp’s hand. “You okay, capi?” 

Philipp sighed. “I’m worried about the guys. I wish I could do more.” 

Shabby chuckled softly. “I know you already did more than you think you did. Philipp,” he said, making Philipp look up at him. “You are a great captain. These boys trust you with their life. They want to make you proud. As long as you let them know that they did that, they will be fine.” 

Philipp’s throat got uncomfortably tight.

“I’m fucking proud of all of them. Of all of _you_ ,” he said, rubbing at his eyes to try and get the tears before they’d start rolling down his cheeks.

“Then,” Xabi said, letting go of his hand and cupping his jaw, “regardless of tonight’s result, we all win. We fought hard. We lost, but we fought so hard. That’s not a bad way to go out. It’s not a bad way to say goodbye, either.”

Philipp managed to smile at Xabi through his tears. He brought his hand up and covered Xabi’s with his own.

“What a ride.” 

Xabi grinned at him.

“Yeah. What a ride.” 


End file.
